


Honor & Hot Chocolate

by McTiddiezo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Drabble, Duty and Honor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Movie Night, Nightmares, Oneshot, Redemption, Sleepy Cuddles, Tumblr Prompt, and jesse is an actual teddy bear, in which hanzo is an angst lord, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McTiddiezo/pseuds/McTiddiezo
Summary: Oneshot prompt from tumblr: "Hanzo wakes up from a nightmare in sweats and McCree comforts him?", in which just that.Takes place sometime during Overwatch on the Gibraltar base, established relationship.Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Overwatch, that'd be Blizzard.





	

Rage.

It surged through him like a flash flood, violently crashing against the banks of his sanity. Coursed through his veins, driving, driving, driving the blade deeper, harder, faster. White hot against his vision, blinding all else. _Unworthy!_ His victim’s cries for mercy went unheard, attempts at endurance futile.  
     _“Do it!”_  
A swing.  
     _“He brought this on himself!”_  
A slice.  
     _“Kill him!”_  
Again.  
     _“It is your duty!”_  
Blood curdled screams filled his ears. a chorus of harsh voices pushed him on. His victim’s resistance faded, and his own fury agitated. _Weakling!_ The swings fell harsher, straining the muscles in his arms and back to the point of burning like fire. With every strike, a new lash of flame across his shoulders. The form beneath his blade slumped into stillness. Hanzo felt the room tilt. Reality sinking in, like the warm blood seeping at his feet.  


_“With every death, ...comes honor…”_

He did not want to open his eyes, for he knew the corpse he would find eviscerated on the floor of his family home. There would be a small lithe body, a face much like his own. Green hair that rebelled against the deep red blood that covered it. There would be. There always was. Except when he opened his eyes, there was not. The body was large and tawny, with unruly brown hair, a prosthetic arm… and a red serape.

_“with honor, ...redemption.”_

Hanzo bolted awake. Clutching, clawing at his chest feeling as if his rib cage were crushed. Sharp edges of broken bone piercing his lungs. Gasping, heaving out strained sobs that turned into a strangled scream.  
    “SWEET MOTHER OF…” a loud thump as McCree fell off the bed. “-FUCK ALL!!”  
The shout jarred him fully awake. His ribs no longer splintered, but the image of a mutilated Jesse clung to his vision.  
    “Hey Sugar,”  
The devil’s voice was quiet, apprehensive. Thick and sweet like honey.  
    “You okay?”  
_Okay?!_ The word rattled around in his mind, like a marble in a game of _Ohajiki._ Okay? When would he ever achieve such a feat of existence? White hot tears spilled defiantly down his face.  
    “Aw-hey, darlin’,”  
Hanzo felt the bed dip under the man’s weight as he climbed back up and over to his side. He did not touch, not yet. The overtly affectionate cowboy had learned that lesson quick.  
    “Hey, talk to me. Another bad dream?”  
_Bad dream?_ _Or was it foresight?_  
    “Hanzo…”  
The words came out small and garbled, every syllable clinging to his tongue.  
    “I will kill you.”  
A pause. A shifting of bed sheets. A steadying breath. “You what now?”  
Hanzo berated himself. This was not something he wanted Jesse to know… at least not yet.  
    “C’mon please talk to me, hey”  
     “I will kill you if you say hey one more time! All you say is hey!” The deflection flew from his tongue venomously. Jesse sat back, eyebrows fixed in an arch.  
    “Well okay then…” He moved off the bed and Hanzo did not expect him to return even though it was his own room.

Regret now twisted his gut alongside the anxiety. The dream returning to bite at the edges of reality. If he looked off the bed and across the floor, he would surely find a red serape there, drenched and dripping in it’s owner’s fresh blood. The guilt -of who he was, what he had done, alone was unbearable, but Hanzo knew it wasn’t just guilt that burdened him. It was fear. It was knowing. The fear that he would hurt McCree. If he had the capability to slay his own brother, than what new fraction of humanity could stop him from killing his lover? The knowing of not _if_ but  _when_ _._  
Eyes wandering from the sheets clenched in his fists, Hanzo found the serape thrown over the arm of the old metal chair. The same bright red-orange of sunsets as always, worn and tattered but still hanging together… and clean. Well, as clean as Jesse would ever allow it to be. If he were to hold it close, it would smell of tobacco and gun smoke. Soft, distinct footfalls told him Jesse had returned.  
    “Since ya ain’t gonna tell me anythin’, I’m just gonna do this the old fashioned way.”  
The padded footsteps came over to his side of the bed until a pair of socked feet entered his vision. Suddenly, the weight of a warm blanket fell over his head and shoulders. A hot ceramic mug placed in his hands, steaming with something that smelled sweet. Next he heard the footsteps pad towards the end of the room, then a few plastic clicks and the mechanical chirp of the media port coming to life. Hot cocoa it turned out, after a careful sip, was what McCree had served him. Smooth and creamy, with just the right amount of bitterness to offset the “mandatory” marshmallows. He felt the bed shift again under Jesse as he crawled up to sit beside him.  
    “Come ‘ere,”  
There was no hesitancy this time, an arm was wrapped around his shoulders pulling him close to his chest, hand coming to rest on the top of his head. An embrace which Hanzo melted into. Opposition forgotten. And as the unmistakable theme of  _Mulan_  met his ears, Hanzo wanted to forget everything else. Everything else but Jesse McCree and this moment. Several months ago, after a particularly harrowing mission in Hollywood itself, the subject of course had come up of favorite movies between them. After a long list of cult classics and westerns, they’d discovered they shared a childhood love for old Disney’s Mulan. It had been their go-to ever since.  
Normally, Hanzo disliked interruptions during films, but every time Jesse laughed or made fun or added un-requested commentary– he did not mind at all. By the time Mulan had made it to the army camp, Hanzo found himself joining in. It was so easy to relax with this man, to drop his guard and find joy in simple things. To forget the darkness clawing at the corners of his mind. McCree gave a low whistle when the newly appointed Captain Shang removed his shirt, as the army began its training.  
    “Me too, Mulan, me too! …Although, not to brag or nothin’,”  
Hanzo yelped, tossing the mostly-empty mug somewhere across the room as a cold, metal hand suddenly wound its way under his shirt.  
    “But I think you could make a man out of _him_ , babe.”  
A laugh escaped as he tried to squirm away from the cold hand and Jesse only clung closer, his own hearty laughter filling the room.  
    “You certainly made one out of me!”  
Their balance tipped and Hanzo found himself on his back, looking up at a cowboy with a wolfish grin. Whiskey brown eyes full of tender affection.  
    “No…” Hanzo whispered, a shocking realization dawning. Reaching up to cup the side of his face, that grin turned to place a kiss against his palm. “I think it is the other way around.”

  
Jesse’s brows knit together, concern flashing across his eyes, a question forming on his lips which Hanzo leaned forward to kiss away. A kiss that was returned, gentle, sweet and lingering. The remainder of the film was ignored as Hanzo contemplated this realization, locked in Jesse’s reassuring embrace. There would be no real resolve for this nightmare tonight, this possible outcome. Nevertheless, in McCree’s gentle kindness Hanzo saw a glimpse of redemption. Over the time he had known the cowboy, little by little he had restored humanity back to him. Planted it in places it had never learned to grow. And slowly, Hanzo Shimada was becoming a man who could feel and share love. A man who maybe one day could learn acceptance and understand forgiveness. Perhaps, even a man who would never again harm those he loved… could he even become the kind of man who would die first?  
As the credits of the film rolled and Jesse’s snores rustled the hair at his temple, Hanzo drifted into a restful sleep. Threading his fingers into the other man’s hand at his waist, he whispered a final thought:

    “The greatest gift of honor… is having you, as a lover.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can pry the headcanon that they love Mulan from my cold, dead hands.  
> This was my first published fic for Overwatch and this pairing, so please critique me gently. 
> 
> Follow me on the tumblr dot com @McTiddiezo or @theextrasideoftheforce for more fan works and general screaming.


End file.
